


Tomatoes

by trollmela



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarves in the Shire, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: Thorin stops to check the tomatoes and is ambushed by Lobelia.





	Tomatoes

The tomatoes were important. Bilbo had ingrained that into Thorin until the dwarf no longer dared pass the tomatoes without checking how they were. Understandably, being a dwarf, he neither understood quite how to tell if they were doing well or not unless they were outright wilting, nor why they were that important; Bilbo had told him several times and in detail when those tomatoes had been awarded various prizes going as far back as when his parents lived; the most prestigious, apparently, was the Green Pride Shire Vegetable Competition Award that was bestowed every season so as not to deprive any hobbit – or their vegetable – of a chance at winning the competition; usually it was always the same hobbits or at least hobbit families that won, and a year where the Baggins’ tomatoes of Bag End did not win would be a devastating disappointment for the entire Baggins and Took clans, and those were large indeed. It was bad enough, Thorin had heard several times, from Bilbo and others besides, that Bilbo hadn’t been there the year when Thorin’s Company took him half-way across Middle-earth (and what a scandal that had been...).

Despite Thorin’s doubts regarding gardening, Bilbo had only given him a few days of doing nothing but rest, smoke his pipe and look around at his leisure before the hobbit had forcibly enlisted him into helping in the garden. That had lasted a surprisingly long amount of time considering the – in Bilbo’s eyes – deplorable state Thorin had left his roses in.

Then Hamfast had reminded them that there was a smithy by the Bywater Pool that the hobbit smith was more than happy to give to Thorin (it turned out that he much preferred being a gardener). From then on, all plants in Bilbo’s garden were spared from Thorin’s care.

But looking at the tomatoes whenever Thorin passed them had become a habit. That was truly the only reason why Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had the opportunity to sneak up on an unsuspecting former warrior and exclaim:

“Master Oakenshield!”

Her gaze would have frozen a goblin (or, if it had any sense, made it run). Running away, unfortunately, was not an option with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and so the dwarf had to face her predictably unhappy and unpleasant expression.

“Mistress _Sackville_ -Baggins,” he replied evenly. Bilbo stressed her maiden name in private, and Thorin felt no compulsion not to do so in public. Some hobbits thought it was the fault of his accent.

“I have heard that there is another troupe of dwarves trampling through Buckland!”

“That is news to me, Mistress Sackville-Baggins, but thank you for alerting me to the coming of my kin.”

“You have caused a great deal of traffic in the Shire! You and my cousin Bilbo. This was a peaceful neighborhood once, you know!”

Bilbo would probably comment that she did not count as being part of the neighborhood – and what a good thing that was, because it would certainly not be peaceful.

“I’m sure the caravan will only pass through and will not disturb long.”

She harrumphed and continued glaring at him down her nose.

“If you would please excuse me, Mistress Sackville Baggins - it’s been a long day and, most importantly, time for ... _supper_.”

Bilbo had practically drilled the names of the various hobbit meals into him until he could recite them in his sleep. Bilbo had been mortified when, on a visit in the Great Smials of Tuckborough, Thorin had embarrassed himself (and, more importantly, Bilbo) in front of the Thain Fortinbras with his dismal knowledge of proper meals. Meals governed a hobbit’s day; they could not be skipped _for any reason_. And after Thorin had finally learnt the order and time of proper meals, he had learnt how to use that information.

Lobelia predictably flinched, hurriedly cast a look at the position of the sun in the sky and proclaimed:

“Then I must bid you a good day, Master Oakenshield. Please remind my cousin Bilbo of tea on Highday.”

“I will.”

Bilbo certainly didn’t need the reminder. For some inexplicable reason, the two met regularly for tea on Highdays and used that time to snipe at each other in the most veiled manner either of them knew. Thorin still wasn’t sure how to tell which one won. But sometimes Bilbo would make a very satisfied face and fetch one of his good wines, and sometimes he stormed into one of his cellars to get something high proof, sometimes even Thorin’s stuff from Ered Luin, muttering angrily under his breath.

“I saw Lobelia at the gate with you,” Bilbo said when Thorin came into the kitchen.

“And you saw no reason to rescue me?”

“I might have saved you twice from Azog, but you cannot expect me to protect you from _Lobelia_.”

“How could I forget? She ranks higher than Azog or Smaug on the list of dangerous creatures.”

Bilbo pointed his spatula at him. “Exactly. Can you get the plates, please?”

* * *

Thorin was no longer king of Erebor, had left the realm entirely, and so some dwarves had decided to come to him instead - to Bag End in the Shire.

Balin had been first, sent by Fili (“His majesty, Fili, King under the Mountain”); Dwalin, too, although Thorin doubted that it had really been necessary for the dwarf to come himself; Kili had come by twice now, and others from the company as well. And then there were the other dwarves: some, according to their hobbit neighbors, came to the Shire trampling through various fields and flower beds, frightening unsuspecting hobbits while lying in wait to catch a glimpse of Thorin Oakenshield, the Conqueror of Erebor. Most didn’t approach Thorin personally. They were content to see him from afar and hear stories about him from the hobbits in the Green Dragon. Some hobbits, notably of the Took branch, had their fun with the visitors and tried to outdo each other with the most outrageous tales. Who knew what stories the poor dwarves carried back to Erebor; so far, they had heard nothing, but it was only a matter of time.

Some, old acquaintances of Thorin who dared, knocked on Bag End’s door and found a gracious host in Bilbo. But when Thorin showed them to the door at the end of the night and closed the door behind them, he would regularly hear Bilbo’s sigh of relief from the kitchen.

Bilbo never showed it in front of his guests, but he got fed up by dwarves looking curiously around the hobbit hole; they took in the wood panels and commented on the lack of stones; they caught sight of the doilies and wondered whether Master Baggins had not the money to replace them with a piece without holes. Jewels and open displays of coin they searched in vain, and even when they did not outright ask, their expressions spoke clearly of their wondering why Thorin remained there in the Shire instead of returning to great Erebor.

But Erebor no longer called to Thorin Oakenshield, except deep in the night when he dreamt of dragon fire that turned dwarves and men into ash. Bilbo said that he muttered in his sleep. He only knew that much because, at times, he was haunted by dreams of battle as well and paced the smial. Thorin did not dare ask if he cried out for gold. Sometimes, he felt its call even in Bilbo’s home.

After those nights, he rose earlier than usual; he would walk to the hobbit smithy and start the fire, work on pans, pots, nails, horse shoes and all the other little things the Shire needed before the roosters greeted a new morning. Until he no longer heard the call of the gold, he would wake to greet mornings in the Shire, check on Bilbo’s tomatoes and work in the smithy.


End file.
